


Impulse

by Sealgirl



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Fighting, Gen, Post-Star Wars: The Phantom Menace, barfight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-17 09:01:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29839170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sealgirl/pseuds/Sealgirl
Summary: Summary – Obi-wan makes an impulsive stop-off at a bar.Prompt – “Obi-Wan - Barfight – no need for a lightsabre”
Kudos: 6





	Impulse

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the starwarsficfest 2008.

  
An impulse had brought him to the bar, and Obi-Wan Kenobi could not understand why he had stayed. Even with the Force there to reassure him, staying was not a wise thing to do. He should finish his drink and leave. Better still, he should just leave then and there, with his drink unfinished.  
  
Careful. _Patient_. That was how Obi-Wan liked to think of himself.  
  
He was always careful and patient. He didn’t like being impulsive, as experience had taught him that trouble always waited until he was impatient to strike. And Obi-Wan didn’t like trouble either. He didn’t relish the action and adrenaline rush in the same way that Anakin so obviously did. He liked being calm. He liked knowing what was happening as well. He liked control.  
  
The bar had been one that Qui-Gon used to go to. Obi-Wan rarely went there, except in the few time he wished for a specific form of guidance and to be reminded of the dead. His Master had been strong with the living Force, and had embraced life with the same unfettered joy that Anakin did, and in a way that Obi-Wan himself found alien and disconcerting. But though they had similar temperaments, Qui-Gon Jinn had been nothing like Anakin. No one in the universe was like Anakin.  
  
At the thought of his Padawan learner, Obi-Wan let out a despondent sigh and took another mouthful of his drink. The boy wasn’t a boy any longer; he was already a young man; and an extremely talented, powerful and arrogant young man as well.  
  
Sometimes he just would not be told. He refused instruction with an effortless ease that nearly drove his Master to distraction. Obi-Wan had never known anyone to be so reckless. He had never known anyone who had taken so many risks and survived them all without any fear or doubt. As his Master, Obi-Wan was swept up in his wake of his triumphs, even though it should have been the other way around.  
  
It was impossible to understand how he got away with it each time, even knowing how _impossibly_ strong the Force was with him. Anyone less would have died a hundred times over. But not Anakin.  
  
‘Hey, you!’ said a low voice behind him. ‘You’re in my favourite seat.’  
  
Sensing hostility through the Force as much as by the sudden hush round the bar, Ori-Wan turned very slowly to see who was speaking to him, a cold sinking feeling growing inside him. ‘I said, _you’re in my favourite seat_.’  
  
The speaker was a huge man, perhaps over seven feet and built like a Wookie with pale blue skin and shining eyes. He looked angry.  
  
Obi-Wan knew what was coming and what the man wanted, but he made no move for the lightsabre that hung at his side under his cloak. He could sense the man’s anger, and the need to take out his frustration on someone else. It would have been a simple matter to _suggest_ to him that all he needed to do was go home and rethink his life, but Obi-Wan did nothing but look back at the man blankly.  
  
With all his fore-knowledge of what was likely to happen next, Obi-Wan had no desire to fight. He rose, intending to let the man take the seat. At least, he thought that had been his intention. But instead of moving away, he surprised himself by standing his ground, and crossing his arms over his chest, in a gesture that felt worryingly like something Anakin would do. _No good could come of this…_  
  
‘It may be your favourite,’ Obi-Wan said politely, ‘but I was sitting in it first.’  
  
He wasn’t even sure why, maybe just to see how far the man would go. He waited.  
  
It felt as if the Force itself were tapping on his shoulder trying to point out the danger and the petty stupidity of his actions. But Obi-Wan ignored it, for reasons that he could hardly even explain to himself.  
  
The huge man struck first, a straight punch that Obi-Wan easily avoided. There was the sound of the other people in the bar scattering to find cover. The next punch was on target to his stomach and he tried to block it, but underestimated the force with which it struck. He staggered back.  
  
The man gave a snarl and lunged again, forcing Obi-Wan to strike back, catching him of the side of the jaw. Obi-Wan himself was so surprised at the pain that burst though his hand that he didn’t see the next punch coming until a fraction too late.  
  
It caught him on the side of his head, and he toppled over, crashing through one of the seats and a table nearby.  
  
The man laughed, and turned to give a mock bow to the cowering patrons. But Obi-Wan kicked out at the back of the man’s knee, and he staggered. Obi-Wan pushed himself up, not using the aid of the Force, but his own physical strength. In a moment he was in a perfect position, and he swung a right hook round at the man’s face with all the power he could muster, sending him to the floor in a dazed heap.  
  
Obi-wan stood looking down at his opponent for a few seconds. He had never been in a fight quite like that before. He hadn’t taken advantage of the Force, and he had won. He felt strangely exhilarated by the experience.  
  
The man on the floor looked up groggily, his gaze falling on the lightsabre as it hung at Obi-Wan’s belt. Obi-Wan reached down and helped him up, guiding him to sit to the disputed seat, and giving him a friendly pat on the shoulder.  
  
‘A drink for my friend here,’ he called to the barman. ‘He looks like he could use one.’  
  
‘One for you too?’ asked the barman.  
  
Obi-Wan shook his head. He suddenly had no desire to stay. Whatever sensation or need that had drawn him in here had gone. He suddenly felt very foolish; had the Force guided him in here just to get into a fight?  
  
The blow across his cheek was already starting to swell. By the morning his face was going to have a bruise like a purple sunset on it. What Anakin was going to think, he couldn’t even begin to imagine, let alone what Master Yoda or Master Windu.  
  
He reached up and touched it gingerly, hearing Anakin’s voice full of incredulity saying: _But why you were in that bar in the first place?_  
  
What answer was he going to give? Just for a taste of exhilaration, to try and feel what Anakin felt, every single day of his life? Maybe it would be easier in the long run not to say anything.  
  
So, with a final glance down to the other man and a rueful smile, Obi-Wan swept out of the bar, back towards the Temple.

* * *

The End


End file.
